


Holographic Nightmares

by Write_To_You



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Holographic Means Hologram Not Rainbow BTW, Hugging, Hurt/Comfort, Love Me Some Holo Tho, Michelle Is Bad At This, Nightmares, Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home, Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie) Spoilers, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:55:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24476098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Write_To_You/pseuds/Write_To_You
Summary: After Beck uses his holographic technology on Peter, it’s no wonder his mind is a little unsettled.(Cross posted on fanfiction.net)
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36





	Holographic Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all, when FFH came out I was EXCITED but no amount of excitement could prepare me for the AMAZINGNESS OF THAT MOVIE!! Like legit when is it coming out to stream for free because I saw it TWICE in theaters and then once through this on demand watchathon thing and the movie is just sooo gooooood omg. 
> 
> And Spidechelle! SPIDEYCHELLE!! Does it get better than those two dorks?!?!

Fighting with Beck had been like fighting a living nightmare. Except the pain had felt real enough. And the memories stuck in a way nightmares didn’t usually.

Mysterio had been defeated. Peter could look back on that with a sense of triumph. However, he chose to dwell a bit more on what happened after, on the bridge with Michelle. She had smelled so good. How was it possible for someone to smell that good even after running away from four killer drones? 

Peter shut his eyes. He was lying on his back on his bed, once again home and in his room. He tried to imagine exactly how kissing Michelle had felt. But his brain had been so jumpy and wired that it was hard to remember precisely what it had been like. But it had felt good. Really good. He would rather like to do it again, and soon, if given the chance.

Peter pictured Michelle’s face, eyes still shut. In a second, unbidden, he was thrown back into the moment when Beck had used his holographic technology and made Peter think he was on top of a tower. Mysterio was standing in front of him, holding Michelle by the throat. He could see her terror, glazing her eyes and turning her face flushed as she frantically kicked her feet and yelled his name. 

Then she was thrown off the building. Peter remembered how this part went, but he still dove off. But, instead of cracking his forehead against the pavement, he kept falling. Michelle kept falling. She didn’t vanish like she had the first time.

This was real.

This was actually happening.

The ground rushed up to meet them both. Peter stretched out his hand, grasping thin air as he desperately overextended his shoulder, trying to grab at Michelle. Why weren’t his web shooters working? 

Michelle let out a scream, her eyes locked on his. In the last second before they both hit the ground, things turned to slow motion. Michelle spoke. “You couldn’t save me,” she said, her voice quiet but somehow echoing around the space with gut-wrenching strength. “Just like you couldn’t save Tony. Just like you can’t save anyone.”

Then she hit the ground.

Brains splattered cartoonishly across the pavement. Peter managed to catch himself, rolling and slipping through the blood. It was disgusting. And then it was mutating, creating a form of MJ that was just veins and tendons and bones. Her eyes were completely hollow. “You did this!” she screamed. “You did this to me!”

Peter woke up.

He lurched to a sitting position, gasping for air. His hairline was soaking with sweat, and the sky outside had turned black. It was nighttime. He had been asleep. It was all just a dream.

Or was it? 

Peter had seen a lot in the past few days. He had learned how to trust his instincts again. What if this was his Peter-Tingle, telling him something was wrong? 

Peter swung his legs over the side of his bed. He stood up and swayed, still sore from the past week. Spidey-healing was great, but sometimes it was too slow even at it’s elevated rate. Rubbing at his ribs, which had been broken and re-broken no less that three times during his school trip, Peter grabbed his web-shooters and hurled himself out of the window.

He reached Michelle’s house in minutes. Her bedroom light was off and he felt panic increase in his chest. It couldn’t be that late, could it? Michelle was a night owl. There were times that she would text him at 2am to share a random meme she had found. She loved to stay up late. And it was summer. Why was her room dark?

Peter crashed ungracefully into the window, and heard a scream from inside. Some of the pressure released. “MJ?!” he cried in a hoarse whisper, lucid enough to realize that she would have his head if he woke the neighbors. “Michelle?”

The curtains were suddenly wrenched open and Michelle’s face popped into view. Her hair was up in a giant poofy bun and she was dressed in pajamas. “Peter?” she asked, eyes squinting incredulously. “What the heck are you doing on the wall of my house at 3 in the morning?”

“It’s- it’s three in the morning?” Peter answered dumbly. He felt his grip slipping on the wall and hurriedly refocused. “I- I had this dream I- I needed to make sure you were alright.”

Michelle gave him her trademark ‘you’re-a-dork-but-you’re-my-dork-so-I-love-you-anyway’ look. “Give me two minutes,” she sighed, moving to close the curtains. “I’ll meet you on the lawn.”

Panic seized him again as she began to turn away. “Wait- wait!” he cried, scrambled to get closer to the window. “You’re- you’re sure you’re alright?”

Michelle yawned. “I’d be more alright if I was sleeping right now,” she told him dryly. “Lawn. Now.”

He nodded obediently and leapt down from her window, landing on her front lawn. Then he waited, bouncing on his toes and shifting his weight from front to back and then back to front again. After what seemed like ages, Michelle opened up her front door. She yawned again and sat down on the grass close to him.  
“Tell me about the dream?”

“Oh.” Peter sat down next to her and wrapped his arms around his knees. “Uh, well, it really just went like what Mysterio showed me when he put me through all of those hallucination things before I ended up in a different country. Basically we were on a tower and Mysterio had you by the neck and then he dropped you and I dove after you, and in the holographic first version I ended up hitting my head on the pavement because it wasn’t real, but in the dream version it was real and we kept falling and you told me- you told me-”

His voice wavered and Michelle gave him a gentle, but stern, look. “What did I tell you?”

“You told me that I couldn’t save you,” Peter managed finally. “Like I- like I couldn’t save Tony.”

Michelle blinked. “Jeez Peter... I never even thought about.... you guys were kinda close, weren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Peter murmured, hugging his knees tighter. “And so then, uh, you kind of.. splatted on the pavement-”

“Ew.”

“Yeah it was super gross,” Peter agreed, letting out a weak laugh. “And I kinda rolled around in it, too. And then all the blood mutated and you sort of came back to life, but you didn’t have any skin and it was super creepy and you were like ‘you did this to me!’ and then I woke up.”

Michelle leaned back, resting her weight on her arms. “Wow,” she said finally. “Can you really imagine me saying all of that?”

“No, of course not!” Peter answered immediately. “I think you were- were just an embodiment of the- the voice inside my own head.”

Michelle’s gaze turned sharply to him. “Hey...” she said slowly. “You are not responsible for Tony Stark’s death. Or in-dream Michelle’s. Or anyones. Thanos killed Stark, not you.”

“Yeah, but-” Peter’s voice wavered again and he sniffled roughly. 

Michelle reached out and put her hand on his arm. “Please don’t start crying,” she winced. “I’m reeeeeally not good at doing the whole ‘you’re-crying-I’m-gonna-hug-you-and-make-you-happy’ thing.”

“I’m- I’m sorry,” Peter muttered, trying to discreetly wipe his eyes.

“Oh jeez, don’t apologize,” Michelle groaned. “Now I feel bad. Okay, okay, go ahead and cry I’ll do my best.”

“Now it feels weird!” Peter said, tears already welling up in his eyes and tracking down his cheeks. “I don’t want you to feel obligated to comfort me.”

“I don’t feel- dear Lord we are really bad at this,” Michelle sighed, and opened up her arms. “Come here, dork.”

Peter leaned forward and curled up in Michelle’s arms, resting his head on the crook of her shoulder. In seconds, his tears were soaking into her pajama shirt. 

“It’s going to be okay, Peter,” Michelle said softly, running her hand up and down his back. “I don’t know how, but it just is. You’re gonna get through this, okay? You got that?”

“Yeah,” Peter mumbled into her shirt. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” he repeated, and then let out another sob.

Michelle groaned again, but quieter this time, and ran her fingers through his hair. “I want you to know that I’m here for you,” she whispered. “Even though I’m terrible at this. And probably the last person you’d want holding you while you cry.”

“No you’re not. You’re like... the second person I’d want,” Peter told her, sniffling.

“Don’t get snot on my shirt, Parker,” Michelle muttered gruffly, unsure of how to respond to what he had said so grasping at something else entirely. “Anyway... just- just remember that, okay? Even if it’s three in the morning. Even if it’s- it’s the middle of the school day and I’m in history class which I hate having to leave in the middle of. If you need me I’m- I’m there.”

“Thanks, Michelle,” Peter murmured. He sat up a little and wiped at his eyes. They were red and blotchy and Michelle was unable to resist leaning in pecking him quickly on the lips. His eyebrows went up in that expressive ‘surprise face’ he always wore when she did something couple-like to him. “What was that for?”

“You looked like a kicked puppy,” Michelle sighed. brushing off her shirt and making sure he hadn’t, in fact, gotten snot on it. “I like to kiss kicked puppies and make them feel better.”

“Oh...” Peter squinted. “I’m not sure how to take that.”

Michelle yawned, leaning back against the grass. “So what do you say? Are we pulling an all-nighter and watching the sunrise?”

Peter smiled, wiping his face one last time. He leaned back next to her and wrapped his fingers around hers. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I’d love that.”


End file.
